Twilight Book 1: The Soggy Apple Core
by HarryPotterHedgehog
Summary: Disclaimer: Me no own Twilight, SM does. It'll be told in parts, as our thing's just going to be too long in any other way. R&R!
1. Death Is Upon Me

preface

I pondered long and hard about the means of my death, squandering to excruciating detail the second-by-second replay (like after someone scores a point in Wii tennis), as if I longed for it bad enough, I could will it so. However, unfortunately, logic and physics have made it nearly impossible for attaining a death by the hands of a giant zombie cat.

Although, dying this way is cool too. I was breathing like a deranged scuba diver, my breath catching on every irregular beat. I tried to glare hateful daggers, but they only came out as irritated, dull razor blades, across the room into the eyes of the hunter. I would say he looked back pleasantly, but that would be an oxymoron and shall take no place in this wondrous creation of literary genius. Because dying by the hands (or should I say paws?) of a large, undead cat has no sentimental value and would not be seen as selfless, this is much nobler, thus more suitable for my selfless, gallant character.

Perhaps if I was psychic, I would have known that coming to Forks would be one of the only mistakes I have ever made in my life (that, and not going blonde when I had the chance). However, not being psychic is only one of the six character traits generously given to me by my author, as you will soon learn.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, back to the hunter I so vaguely describe. He came towards me, but I shall depict it differently, using pointless, long words that I don't know the meaning of. In my much more exciting version, he frolicked slowly, meandering towards me like that confused sea pony I wanted for my seventh birthday.


	2. I'll Miss That Place

My mother drove me to the airport on our rocket-powered, sparkly blue, two-person bicycle with the windows rolled down. It was a hundred seventy-five degrees in my wonderful hometown, Tucson, Arizona, and the sky a perfect, cloudless purple. I was wearing a low-cut, sleeveless, white eyelet lace tank. I was donning it with tearful goodbye; it's overall class nodded to my classier peers, I being their overlord of class. So classy, in fact, that they didn't dare speak to me, but left me alone in my lunch corner. Yes, it was rather revealing, but that's the kind of person I am, baring my exquisite soul to the world. I had a parka as my carry-on item, the cheap, bubble gum pink, oversized, aluminum foil type. The gaping hole over my pancreas area made it a steal for ninety-nine cents at my favorite, local counterfeit goods dealer. I would miss that place.

In the top left? right? -I don't need directions- of the United States, in Wyoming, a tiny, almost nonexistent, hillbilly town named Spork exists. Someone called out to me on the road.

"Where are you going?" they asked.

"I'm going to Spork!" I answered in a southern accent. I thought it was appropriate. Isn't Wyoming southern?

According to Google, it rains more in Spork than any other town in the US. Never mind the fact that if I had actually done my research I would've known that in fact the rainiest place in the United States is Mobile, Alabama. I am above such petty things such as the weather. I visited there once a year until I was fourteen; that was when I had a temper tantrum and refused to get on the plane. Instead, I forced my father to vacation with me in Las Vegas for the past three years.

Ironically, it is now to Spork that I was banishing myself, something I do with great dread. I hate Spork. I love Tucson; where forever shall it be blistering in the heat and sweat. Even if it gets so hot sometimes that my "blemishes" [they're really pimples, but what an ugly word!] pop in the heat.

"Bell," my mother screamed to me as we parked our bicycle, took out the Master lock, whipped out the hot glue gun, and glued the lock to the bicycle rack at the airport (they have those now) to avoid theft. It was such a valuable mode of transportation.

"Ding-dong!" I responded cheerfully to her cry, which prompted her to break out into a loud chorus of Jingle Bells. While she was distracted, I slapped her boyfriend on the back,

"Take good care of her, Billiard," I spoke solemnly; my final words. In a rush to get on the plane before the tears, I knocked an old lady over with my parka. It wouldn't have been so heavy, but I weighed it down with lemons (stuffed in the pockets and the lining that I ripped open) in my attempt to remember Tucson on my depressing way to Spork.

"Get out of the way!" I snarled at her. She proceeded to beat me with her cane. It was only then I noticed her impeccable fashion sense. She wore light pink sweat pants that were drawn out up to her waist, shirt tucked in. The best was her dangling, hippo earrings. But I couldn't get distracted! No, I needed to get on my plane before my mother found me and begged me not to go, before my nobleness, my everlasting nobleness, could crack and I would stay with her in Tucson.


	3. I Now Go By Izzai

It was a fifty-two hour, thirty-nine minute, and four second flight from Tucson to Spork. It wouldn't have been that long, but due to my (attractive) clumsiness, I tripped and caused both engines spontaneously combust. Also, our pilot was blind, and we had to make a pit stop in Hong Kong.

The six minutes on Charlton's snazzy three-person bicycle worried me though. Would that "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" song last long enough to get us through it without talking?

Charlton had been surprisingly friendly about me coming to live with him. Especially since on my last summer trip, he'd taken me shuffle boarding and I had run away calling him an "old louse". Perhaps it was my charm that prompted him to accept me. He'd already gotten me registered in high school, the finest in the land. Just kidding! It was a puny, tiny, minuscule, hillbilly school to match this hillbilly town, which produces more hillbillies than any other city in the country, except for Iowa. Those people are freaks. (When my mother and I visited there, we attended a corn mating ritual. Dancing around the fire, singing about corn, it was so joyous, yet so country at the same time.)

Charlton also agreed to help me get a vehicle of my very own. Maybe living here wouldn't be so bad. Nonetheless, I've always felt awkwardness between me and Charlie. We were both extraordinary unsocial.

"Hello there, Brianna." He twisted his hand back in forth in an imitation of the Queen's wave. Charlton was as despicable a father as could possibly be. After all, he _was_ the town's only fire-hydrant polisher. His slogan was Charlton's _Fire Hydrant Cleaners: Did the dog pee? Nah, Charlton did!_ Secretly, I hoped to have such a fantastic profession as he when my time came. But for now, I was only 16 years old, ready to take on the world!

"Oh, I mean, sorry, Bell." I stared at him cooly.

"For your information Charl-Dad, I now go by !zzii(;" Charton looked at me for a moment, disappointment and disbelief in his eyes. Instinct told me he thought I was a spoiled, obnoxious teenager. But reality proved that this was the first visit that I hadn't brought my Ziploc bag of sea slugs to. He sighed.

"No," he stated regally. "Bell, just no." And thus, my short lived carreer as !zzii(; ended.


	4. Charlton is Cheap

***Good news! In case you didn't notice, I finally figured out how to upload chapters separately … yeah. Reviews And I'll write more!

I only had 64 bags. Unfortunately, to say my mother and I were slightly poor was like saying it was a little difficult to understand the Scottish. In consequence, most of the clothing ragged and filthy. I didn't see how my luggage would fit on the bicycle, but I need not have worried. Charlton had rented a plastic box the size of a whale from the airport, allowing me to store my bags inside. My dad started to pedal up the hill to our house. He was sweating and puffing, but I don't know why. The slope was only at a 110 degree angle, for Cat's sake! To be fair though, I suppose it didn't help that I spent the ride perched on his back, whacking him with my horse whip.

"Ride, Charlton, ride!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. When we got to the house, I could not hide my disgust.

The house was made completely of sparkling glass, 8 stories, spreading over what looked like 10 acres of land.

"Gosh, Charlton, you cheapo! What is this, eight floors? I will NOT sleep in anything under 12!" Charlton slapped me. It was our subtle communication for when one of us was being too exuberant.

"Wait until you see the vehicle I got you!" he exclaimed.

"Let me guess. A four person bicycle," I sneered, sensing a pattern.

"You'll see," he declared. We walked up the long drive, and there it sat.

My very own segway. It was caked in five clear inches of mud. Tangles of seaweed were draped across the handlebars. There was a piece of orange gum stuck to the left tire, and a dead raccoon plastered to the right. Fruit flies buzzed around it.

"It's…it's…"

"BEAUTIFUL" I shrieked. As I mounted the segway.

"And all I did was pull the thing out of the La Push River trash compost," Charlton muttered. _The thing_. That wouldn't do. I tapped my foot against a wheel mindlessly. The raccoon roared and bit me.

"Ohh, rabies!" I enthused enthusiastically. Charlton, shaking his head, walked into the house. I now began my pondering of what glorious name I'd give my new baby segway. I already cared for it like a child. It was clearly a girl, I'd recognized that immediately.

Hmmm…names cycled through my head. _Ida, Gertrude, Edith, Ethel, Myrtle, Agnes, Blanche, Matilda, Winifred, Henrietta, Mildred, Shakira, Beatrice, Tillie, Eula, Adelaide, Lucinda, Minerva, Olga, Bernice, Ophelia, Wilhelmina, Miriam, Priscilla, Flossie, Gladys, Zelma, Gwendolyn, Iona, Ernestine, Prudence, Agatha, Patsy, Chiquita, Dolores, Imogene, Beryl, Dorcas, Lugenia, Philomena, Drucilla, Eudora, Phyllis, Bulah, Elzada…_

And then it hit me like those overly ripe tomatoes at my seventh grade talent show. Truly becoming of this beautiful segway of mine.

"Yes," I sighed softly to myself. I pulled out my floret from fencing lessons, and tapped each handlebar.

"Rise, noble Segway," I commanded.

"I christen thee Hortense."


	5. Extreme Home Makeover: Vampire Edition

Once I stapled Hortense to the drive way, I headed inside of the shack the Charlton called a home. Typically of the way he neglected me, he'd gone straight down to the basement to watch football on our home movie theatre. A nagging, kind thought in the back of my brain told me that Charlton really just wanted me to get acclaimed to the place, but like all my other thoughts that included the goodness in others, I squashed it. How was I supposed to be noble if I wasn't constantly, day in and day out, suffering?

I was starting to get the idea that Charlton didn't know how we lived in Tucson. He must've done his best to make me feel at home, though.

The walls were painted in a light, cheery green. Extravagant cream lace curtains graced the bay window, shimmering with some kind of dust. There was almost some of this dust settling on the desk, which still had the price tag attached in case I didn't like it. Of course I didn't like it. I hated it. And _what_ better way to be noble and self-suffering if you didn't like your surroundings? It was perfect. Let's see… a three…a five…two nines…a dot…and two zeros. So $3599.00 in all. Charlton's taste was improving slowly. I dragged my finger through the thick dust settling on the desk and inhaled it. Blech, diamond. My room though, I wouldn't be able to suffer through. I ran downstairs and got several cans of paint, as well as the moth-eaten, torn, black lace curtains that my great-great-great-great-great half-uncle's cousin's mom's dog's sister's owner had be quested to Charlton in her will. I sloshed dark, almost black but not quite, blood red paint all over the walls. I hung the creepy curtains. Yes, that was much better.

And now, I stared out the window, a dejected, yet mysteriously inviting expression on my face. I was determined to only let out a few years, ten perfect tears. I'd pencil in sob hysterical sobbing before bed time, wake up at 1:00 in the morning for some quite sniffling, and gush tears with the force of a fire extinguisher, though silently, in the morning before school.

The tears began. One…two…three…four…five….

DRAT! I lost count. Starting over now…one…two…three… lost it again!

The next time, I got all the way to seven before that cursed eighth number avoided me. My high school now had, including me [and let's face it, I really should count for about 300 students, the way I influence people, but we'll limit me down to one for population's sake.] 358 students. My junior class had more than 137382078 people in it alone. All of the kids here had been toddlers together, their parents toddlers, their grandparents toddlers, their iguana's hatching from their shells together. Theoretically, I should be rejected and ignored like every other new kid. Naturally, that wasn't the case.

Maybe if I had a different skin tone, different eyes, different hair, and could play a sport, I'd be accepted. Instead, I was deathly albino. My mom always encouraged me to put some color in my cheeks, but I insisted that people _needed_ to stare, I _needed_ the alone feeling of self-sacrifice. Otherwise, I would've been more orange then a bell pepper. Bee tee dubs, I do not have blue eyes or red hair. If only I did, then I'd be like the American flag, all red white and blue. I put my clothes in my re-dyed black dresser. It looked too pristine, so I took out my cobweb collection from my shoe and draped that across the top. Perfect.

I already looked unhealthy from Spork- YES! Maybe I'll catch something. My skin was almost translucent- a term also known as opaque. Some people would see this as a safety hazard, as well as slightly disgusting, seeing as no one really wants to see your various bodily tissues. But I thought it made me look unearthly- a vampire, perhaps?

I didn't relate to people my age. I didn't relate to anyone, actually. You'd need to be, like, one-hundred-nine years old to relate to me, perhaps. Even my mom was never "in harmony" with me. She was always one note too high on the harmonica. I often figured there was a glitch in my brain. Which is totally radical.

The cause didn't matter, however. The effect was what mattered. Tomorrow, the first day of school, would be the beginning of the end.


	6. I Loved Your Dress

I'm starting to doubt the fact that I'm truly perpetually unlucky. For instance, even after my sobbing session, I still couldn't sleep. I do believe that the dark circles dappled across my cheekbones made me look mysterious, so I took some black shimmery eye shadow to emphasize it. Then I put on a tube of mascara on each set of eyelashes, and bawled my eyes out, giving me that groovy, sobbed-out look, because my streaks of tears were stained black. The next morning, or maybe it was today, I could only see fog. I pounded on my window [which was far too clear, I needed some hip grime to build up already] screaming

" WHY! WHY!"

My claustrophobia kicking in [ATTENTION: CHARACTER TRAIT ALERT! MASTER OF SUBLETY AT WORK], the sky was like an oppressive, solid, barred, iron, steel, limiting, bleak, confining, depressing, gloomy, somber, tyrannical cage of despair. The only sounds during breakfast were my tears smacking against my Corn Pops. With each bite, I tasted the salts of sadness. Charlton told me not to embarrass him at school. Then he left, to his first fire hydrant polishing job of the day, the job that he cared about more than me. All the better. All of this attention is getting embarrassing.

Once he departed, I sat at the aged, ancient, elderly, old, veteran square [uhg. I hate {insert fancy adverb} boring words, don't you?] of a table made of oak wood. There were 3 chairs, but they didn't match. The walls were paneled, dark, reflecting my brooding intellectual expression. The cabinets were more eye wateringly yellow than my ex best friend's teeth. My family room was the size of a fairy large handkerchief. I didn't know where Charlton found one that big, and I don't know how it fit in his pocket, but it was one of the few things I admired about him. That and he really didn't care what I did, conveniently disappearing whenever I had to do something that a normal parent wouldn't like.

There was Charlton hanging from the circus tent rafters that held his and my mom's wedding in Vegas. Then there was one of him, my mother, and I, at the hospital, just as I was being born. Some people wouldn't be comfortable with that kind of exposure, but back then, before teenage angst set in on me, I was very happy and open with my family. Then there were my school pictures, each more strikingly gorgeous than the last.

Living in this house for all of a day, it was obvious that Charlton was still obsessed with my mother. How strange of him, I always thought that he'd been the one to get fed up with her. The woman had the attention span of a very, very dumb squirrel that bred with a gold fish. Kind of like oh look a giraffe! Charlton thought his private zoo was something special, but we had kangaroos back home. Oddly enough, there were about 30 different multicolored Post-It notes on the billboard with phone numbers on them. I had no idea lipstick came in that shade.

Despite the fact that I might have been invading Charlton's private life, I decided to look at the notes. Interesting, Charlton, interesting.

_ Charlton, the next time I see you, my hare will be so blond it will hurt you're eyes. Do you think my speling is getting beter? With luv, Trixie._

_ ChArLtOn;; wht is poppin'? I am xc!t3d for our niqht d0wnt0wn. !'ll g!v3 u a gold ch!n 3v3ri t!m3 y0u sh00t som1. Seeyuh home dawg. - Frelayshataqua-TaunQ'ashria-Jewlyawnique-Fenistthayaunia-Nyshundai-BonQuiQui out._

_ OMG CHARLEZ. So your daughter is coming? Isn't she like really annoying? Doesn't she, like, READ? And stuff? And think. OhM'Gawsh. Who does that anymore? Frum Bunny._

_ Charlene, dear, I had a wonderful time last night. Please give me a call at your nearest convenience. I adored your dress. Sincerely, Frank. _

I would go ask Charlton what he was up to, but something tells me I honestly don't want to know.

This house was too cheerful, so I decided to head to school early, even though I wouldn't want to. This way, I was forcing myself to do something I didn't like, which clearly is the reason I came in the first place. I donned my biohazard suit, which had the feel of a jacket, and headed out into the drizzle of a not really rain, but enough water dripping from the sky to upset me. _Yes_.

I locked the house with several flourishes and a couple of ballerina twirls that I picked up at my old ballet school in Tucson [foreshadowing…not…]. I missed the sound of cymbals crashing that our old gravel made. This gravel sounded like a piccolo, and I hated it. My segway was dry like the Sahara desert when it isn't raining there. If I was a silly mortal, I would be glad, because it would remind me of the pimple-rupturing heat of Tucson, but I was determined to suffer. WHETHER I LIKED IT OR NOT. It also smelled of an oil spill, a Cuban cigar the size of Billard's nose, and chewed spearmint gum. Oh, wait, that was on the steering wheel. A built in air freshener? Charlton was really making it difficult for me to hate it here. Difficult? WHERE? Sign me up!


	7. Horlie or Lestense?

Surprisingly enough, the segway managed to start. It sputtered to life with a blaring manatee call? Or was it a whale? Maybe it was ladybug… On the drive to school, the dead raccoon woke up again. I decided to name it as well. I think it was a boy, why else would it be so close to Hortense? They could have children! I flipped through my _Encyclopedia of __Ridiculous __Normal Names for Young Boys_ as I ran through three red lights, two orange lights, hit a pregnant woman walking with a stroller, hit the grandma from my flight [was she following me?], was stopped by the grandma, was beaten senseless by her, kept going, ran over a yield, stop, and speed limit sign, went over six curbs, went over the speed limit by 100 light years, used a wrong lane, and caused fourteen accidents. This happened within the first ten minutes of my drive. Here are the names I came up with:

_ Oscar, Herbert, Elmer, Otto, Ira, Floyd, Horace, Rufus, Milton, Bernard, Alonzo, Cornelius, Felix, Reuben, Wallace, Roscoe, Otis, Sylvester, Irvin, __Newton, Curtis, Enoch, Lemuel, Adelbert, Bertram, Kasper, Tobe, Llewwellyn, Raoul, Dexter…_

Then it hit me again. Except, instead of the like the roasted brussel sprouts at talent show via 7th grade, it was much like the cold can of creamed corn that just hit me. Some peasant leaning out of a Justin Bieber Tour Van had thrown it at me.

Anyhoo, I decided to name the raccoon Leslie.

_No! No, fool!_

_**Who said that? **_I mentally questioned ferociously.

_It is I, Leslie. Why did you name me that? It is not proper for a nobleman such as myself._

Something told me that Leslie was communicating with me. Or was I imagining it? Silly goose, I'm just so special that I can communicate with animals. Because I'm BELL! And I am amazing. When I sneeze a factory powered by child labor is shut down. Every time I blink the smog in New York clears a bit away. (You may think this is proof that my powers aren't real, because New York is still quite smoggy, but I being more extraordinary than any mere human blink once every two months.) Whenever I shave a baby lamb is born. And when I take a Tylenol, three people are cured from cancer.

_**Um. You're a raccoon **_I responded.

_So? I'm still cooler than you. But back to my previous concern. WHY DID YOU NAME ME LESLIE?_

_**It's a perfectly respectable name for a boy!**_

_It is NOT! It's like naming a baby girl John._

_**There were a few of those in the 1800's **_I reasoned

_This is ridiculous. I hate you._

_**No you don't. I'm BELL!**_I struck a pose, which caused Hortense to veer out of control, which caused a truck to veer off the road and into a corn field. The barn exploded and I'm sure the casualty level of the cows was pretty high. The helicopter flying overhead exploded and the flock of geese dropped to the ground, dead. I was on a roll this morning.

My cerebral conversation with Leslie was abruptly interrupted by my crashing into the "Sporks Learning Centre for the Young Adult Population" sign. My rather advanced deductive reasoning skills kicked in: I could, possibly, maybe, it's a chance, that I reached my destination, high school. My journey of martyrdom continues…

I couldn't see barbed wire, nor detectors used for the detection of metal. Where were the watch towers? The men in camouflage armed with AK47s? There was no one standing by the door with a loaded horse tranquilizer? My initial thought of landing in prison was subdued. So, therefore, hence, so forth, thus, consequently, as a result, for that reason, we MUST be at school! I tried to high-five myself, but missed and broke my own nose. I performed surgery right there, on myself, in the parking lot, for my operational skills must be marginally better than the "qualified" school nurse. I could also feel the bacteria streaming in, but don't worry: every time I get an infection, a natural disaster is prevented.

I donned my bifocals and stared across the parking lot. A sign saying "Front Office" declared the building. Instead of idiotically (albeit, in a very attractive manner) driving in a hexagonal pattern around the lot, I decided to ask for directions. To think, on my first day at a new school, I would ask where to go! I am such a trend setter. Before opening the door, I did some yoga fire-breaths. Unfortunately, the fire streaming from my mouth melted the glass door. I stepped through the now-empty door frame into the office to begin my adventure.

****What'd you think? Sorry this is turning out so long…I'm currently working on the next chapter, so expect that soon. I hope more people check this out and review, thanks to all that did! 3


	8. Thidwick the Big Hearted Moose

The office was too small, too warm, too bright, too cluttered, too plain, too green, and I hated it. The secretary was a tubby, and since not strikingly gorgeous, I branded her a potential enemy.

"Can I help you?" she inquired nosily. The nerve of her!

"I am !zzi(;-Bell Marielle Prudence Ludmilla Van St. Swan," I informed her with my nose in the air. Unfortunately, the lights were even more unpleasant this way, so I turned my head back down. Because she lived in a small town which implied that she had absolutely no life, she had a light in her eyes when I said my name. I was, after all, the daughter of Charlton's ex-wife (but apparently not _his_ daughter as well) and now I was "home".

"Of course," she drooled over my presence. After re-storming the shores of Normandy to get me my schedule and map of the school, she presented them on a platter of solid gold. Laboriously, she went through each of my classes for me and highlighting the easiest way to get there on the map. She beamed at me, polished my shoes, and wished me to have a good time in Forks.

"Fat chance. I hate it here and am doomed to do so forever. Jay kay…" I lied with an awkward grimace like smile. Being chagrin, masochistic, and noble, I didn't have much practice in petty things like smiling. Besides only having a few students, the school was split up into many different buildings like a college campus. Spork was the most backwards place on the planet. I had been early, other students were starting to arrive. At home in Tucson, I lived in a poorer neighborhood, so there were often very expensive cars. This strange logic, which Tucson could pull off, did not fly in Forks. I rounded the corner on my Segway and there it was. The nicest vehicle in the parking lot- a Segway Ferrari. It gleamed in the lack of sunlight, standing proud and strong. The handlebars were at a perfect angle, tilted rakishly 47.5 degrees. The tires were devoid of any filthy animals.

_**Oh no you din't**_Leslie bit me, but I was too entranced by the Ferrari.

_**Ooh, look what we have here**_Hortense whistled in appreciation. Leslie gnawed on her jealously. The shiny red paint of the Ferrari poked fun at Horty's garish blue. A small puddle of oil was leaking from her, and I realized, in her embarrassment, she had peed herself. Embarrassed myself, I zoomed to a far corner of the parking lot and gave her a stern lecture. Once I got my things together, I lied to myself. It will be okay, no one will bite me. Leslie responded by ripping out my ACL. Didn't use it much anyway, sports were for people who had too much free time because they weren't intelligent enough to brood and sob while practicing playing the oboe, like me.

Hortense's actions were still shameful to me, so I kept my face hidden under a sombrero in what I hoped was an inconspicuous fashion. Luckily, the students here wore black jackets, so I wouldn't really stand out. Despite a distractingly large "Building 3" painted on my destination, I managed to find the place okay. Each step I took ramped up my breathing. Here's a chart for you, with b=breaths.

Step one: b b b b b b b b

Step two: b b b b b b b b b b b b b b

Step three: b b b b b b b b b b b b b b b b

Step four: bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbb

Step five: bbbBbbbbBbbbbBbbbBB

Step 6: B B B B B B B B B B B B

Step 7: BBBBbbbbBBBbbbbb BBbbBb CCC!*&$^….b.

I counted 136 steps, so you can imagine that I was near hyperventilation by the time I reached the classroom. Like everything else in this bum town, the classroom was small. About the size of a normal class room (but out classrooms in Tucson were the size of Kentucky) or maybe a really big mouse pad. Two girls hung their coats on a rack. I threw their coats on the ground to make room for my sombrero. Their skin was fair, but not as fair as mine. No one's skin is as pale as me! No one is as unhealthily translucent! NO ONE!

I had Mr. Mason, the English teacher, who was bald and therefore inferior to me, sign my slip of paper. His eyes fell out of my head when he saw me, he also got whiplash and fainted. I, of course, flushed as red as the baby of a cherry and a firetruck. He then sent me to the back of the room at a desk by myself. I suppose he knew that the drabble of the students here, like the girls who were talking about how their grandmother just died or a pair of boys who were discussing their fears of their parents in Iraq, would only distract me. He knew as well as I did that their problems were silly and not really important at all.

The reading list eye-balled me. It was ridiculously simple. Shakespeare in Tagalog, _Catcher in the Rye _in Cherokee, _Jane Eyre_ in Russian. The only book that might have posed a minuscule challenge was _Thidwick the Big-hearted Moose_ by Dr. Seuss. It was in Armenian, the one language that I didn't know every last word of, including unnecessary words like "giraffe", "snow globe" and "chandelier". I wanted to cheat, but something told me my mother wouldn't approve of that. Cheating irked her to the point where she got a "Cheaters never prosper" tattoo on her back over her left kidney. Billard persuaded her to get it removed, but not before she had taken pictures and uploaded them as her picture on her MySpace, Youtube, Twitter, Formspring, Facebook, Club Penguin, Blogster, Daily Booth, Deviant Art, Flickr, Photobucket, hi5, LiveJournal, Tumblr, and Xanga accounts.

The bell finally rang, a nasal sound nowhere near as endearing as Hortense's manatee-whale-ladybug call.


End file.
